My Alexander
by Quadrantje
Summary: It's Alexander who dies first and now Hephaestion has to overcome his grief to keep the empire together for Alexander's unborn son.
1. Alexander's Deathbed

**Disclaimer: Wonderful aren't they, those historical figures? Of course they don't belong to me nor does the way in which they are represented, which belongs to the creators of the movie _Alexander._ No copyright infringement is intended.  
A/N: I'm posting this first part now because today is my fifth anniversary to fanfic writing! The story itself is not yet finished, though it is coming closer, and I don't know yet when the next part will be up, but reviewing will make both sooner rather than later, so please do!**

**My Alexander**

He sat on the king's bed; the only one who dared. He was hovering over him as his love lay dying; his hands clenched around Alexander's, his bright cerulean eyes never leaving his face. Alexander was pale and feverish, his eyes red-rimmed and wide in madness. His head remained hot even while Bagoas, kneeling on the other side of the king, continuously wiped his brow with moist rags. Alexander knew nothing of it all. Not the pretty eunuch by his bedside, not his generals, friends, servants and wives filling the room; maybe, Hephaestion thought, not even his own presence, that of his closest companion since childhood. He just lay there, shivering, mumbling fragments even Hephaestion did not know the meaning of, unaware of his grip on his hands, the pleads Hephaestion's eyes sent him, to stay.

Behind him, Roxane's screams filled the room for a moment, exclaiming to Alexander about the son she was to bear him, while someone dragged her out of the room. Hephaestion heard her, but could not bring himself to care. Only his Alexander mattered, and he continue to gaze at him. Suddenly, by the power of Zeus himself, Alexander's eyes finally caught his, and held. For the moment, the feverish insanity had left them and Hephaestion knew he finally had his love's attention.

''Phaestion,' Alexander whispered through cracked and dry lips, barely any sound coming out at all; Hephaestion had to lean close to hear him, 'remember when we were boys, in Mieza?' A pained spasm wrecked his body and momentarily stole his eyes from Hephaestion's.

'Of course, all of it,' Hephaestion pledged. And then, with a smile that didn't reach his shining eyes, 'even how you used to dress me up like a sheik.'

But the broken chuckle he had hoped for didn't come. 'Arabia,' Alexander breathed as more sadness flooded his eyes, 'I failed, Hephaestion, I failed them; to free the people of the world!' The frantic desperation in his eyes tore at Hephaestion, as it tried to drag out his own.

'No man has ever gone as far as you have, Alexander,' he tried to sooth his love as he fought desperately to keep his own eyes clear and spare Alexander the worst of his pain, 'A feat to rival Prometheus!'

'Oh Hephaestion,' the king sighed, 'even now you believe in me.'

As he saw the light slowly dimming in his lover's eyes, Hephaestion wanted to plead with him to stay, cry out, grab him and hold on so not even Hades himself would steal his Alexander away from him; anything that would keep Alexander with him just a little longer. With force he didn't know he possessed, he managed to hold the words back, knowing that he had to let his friend go. His tears fought past his eyelids and trailed down his cheeks, splattering on Alexander's face before Hephaestion could stop them. Alexander grew quieter in his arms and Hephaestion could see him struggle against the numbness that tried to close his eyes.

'No,' he whispered, as he saw his king, his friend, his love die. The commotion around them grew as the cries for Alexander to name his successor increased in volume. Once more Alexander's eyes focussed on him, just briefly.

''Phaestion,' he whispered on his last breath, pushing something into Hephaestion's hands before his hold slackened and his eyes closed. For long seconds, Hephaestion kept his eyes desperately glued to Alexander's, wishing, hoping, for any sign of life. But he was disappointed. Finally, he closed his own eyes against the tears, trembling wildly, and was able to glance down just briefly to where his hands were still tightly clinging to Alexander's, finding that what Alexander had exhausted his last strength to give him was the ring he himself had given him on his wedding night years ago. His fingers softly caressed it and at that, his face crumbled, and the tears, now unhindered, blurred Alexander's face almost beyond recognition as he let the entirety of his grief out. Beyond that point, he knew nothing but that his love was dead.

**_TBC_**


	2. Fighting Grief

**A/N: Thank you all for reviewing, you're great! But if you leave a long anonymous review, please add your email so I can personally thank you and respond!**

He was disturbed from his overwhelming grief, he knew not how much later, by the angry shouts of what had once been his friends. The all-consuming numbness receded just a bit, and he became aware of his position once more. He was lying face-down on a bed, his legs curled behind him, migrated from where they'd previously hung over the edge of the bed, his hands tightly grasping someone else's. Alexander! He quickly looked up; his desperate hope once more smashed the moment he set eyes on the face of his dead lover. Again the tears welled up; he couldn't even conceive of a time when they would not come at the realization that his lifelong companion was gone.

Somewhere far away, on the edges of his perception, he was aware of the cries getting louder; occasionally phrases even penetrated the bubble of his anguish. He paid them no notice, but still somewhere in the back of his mind they registered. It escalated, as shouted insults turned into a brawl, and still Hephaestion grieved.

It wasn't until he heard Alexander's name that he spared them a thought and then suddenly he was shoved from behind. He fell, and just managed to brace himself against the bed sheets before he crushed onto Alexander's body. With a passable imitation of his usual agility, he spun around, crouching on the bed, and for a second observed the astonishing scene before him. There they were, Alexander's great generals, lunging at each other like rabid dogs.

Cassander, by the door on his left, was shooting venomous insults into the room that Hephaestion couldn't hear but only see in the way his face darkened, on the verge of breaking free from the two strong soldiers who were trying to restrain him. Antigonus, Craterus, and some other companions glared back and bared their fists at him from the other side of the room; Ptolemy, standing on a table, was valiantly trying to preserve some peace while obviously on the brink of succumbing to the madness himself. Hephaestion took it all in with shocked disgust. How had the very best of Alexander's army come to this?

Then a blind rage shot through him, and he hurled furious words at them all. They heard him, though he himself did not, and in their surprise slowed; rarely, if ever, had they seen him mad, and never like this. In the din of silence that ensued, Hephaestion shot a look around the room, taking in the details that he at first glance had missed: the redness of Craterus' face, the twitch in Perdiccas' jaw, the megalomaniacal gleam in Cassander's eyes; the soldiers in between them, who didn't know what to do, who to follow; Bagoas curled into a ball in the corner next to Alexander's bed. Lividly, he unleashed his wrath on them all.

'Is this your loyalty?' he spat at them, 'Alexander isn't even cold and here you are squabbling over his legacy?'

Most turned shame-faced and only Cassander had the insolence to challenge him. 'What would you have us do, _Hephaestion_?' he said with sneering contempt, 'throw ourselves on his bed and weep like a woman?'

Slowly, with feline grace, Hephaestion lifted himself from where he had crouched on the bed and menacingly advanced on Cassander. 'He was our _king_!' he hissed at him when his face was just inches from Cassander's.

'A dead king, without an heir,' Cassander scoffed.

'He has a son, with Roxane,' Hephaestion interjected.

'The child isn't even born yet,' Antigonus' calmer voice came from across the room, 'and he didn't name a successor.'

Hephaestion glanced back at him, and then at the others. It was true, there was no successor, and without one, these men would each take that role upon themselves and take up arms against the others. Hephaestion could only see two options: he could watch them tear up Alexander's realm, his legacy and dream, or…

'He did! He did name a successor!' Hephaestion said, 'Me!'

**_TBC_**


	3. Embracing the Dream

'_He did! He did name a successor!' Hephaestion said, 'Me!'_

Renewed chaos broke out, as he'd know it would, with different voice shouting out their disbelief. This was the moment, now he would have to step up and prove himself worthy of Alexander's dream.

'He did,' he roared through the pandemonium, and waited a breath-stroke for everyone's eyes to turn to him, 'Right before he died, when you asked him to name a successor, Perdiccas, he said _my_ name.' More grumbling broke out, but this time it lacked the earlier fervour and Hephaestion knew he'd won this struggle. They didn't like it, but for the moment they would accept him. Forcefully, he looked at each of them in turn until even Cassander's hateful eyes glanced down in defeat. He maintained his self-assured stance until the last of them had stumbled out of the room. Then he turned back to the bed, staring once more at his Alexander.

When he was finally able to pull his eyes away from his lover, he turned to Bagoas, who didn't seem to have moved at all. He was still sitting on the ground in a corner, head pillowed on the knees he had crushed against his chest.

'Bagoas?' Hephaestion asked gently, and he waited for the boy to meet his eyes. Had he not felt so far removed from the world and anything of love in it, he would have felt a rush of affection for the eunuch as he met eyes that reflected the same emptiness his soul felt. Here in this former slave was a kin in loyalty to his beloved Alexander. 'Bagoas,' he started his request, 'would you prepare the king for his funeral rites?'

The boy nodded slowly, as if grief had disabled his very ability to move. Hephaestion felt the same, but knew that if he were to do anything for Alexander, he couldn't afford himself that luxury.

With one last glance at his beloved's face, he turned around and resolutely strolled out the room. He wished he could stay and spent even the last moments with Alexander, but he had other things he needed to attend to. Now that he had claimed Alexander's legacy, he needed to live up to it and see to it that what Alexander would have wanted to happen did. Oh, he knew Alexander had not meant this, had spoken his name as his lover, not his king, but really, what else could he have done? Watch these once-loyal generals circle around Alexander's empire like vultures and in their struggle destroy the realm he had worked so hard to build? Watch the dream that had brightened his face for all these years die and turn to ashes like he himself would? No, then Alexander truly would have failed, and he would do anything within his power to make it so that that didn't happen. His Alexander might have died, but his dream would live on, and shine on all men; he would make it so.

But it meant he couldn't follow him down to Hades, not immediately, and for that Hephaestion grieved. He needed to be down there, not in this world where without Alexander he was already half dead. But for him, for his dream, he would do it, so that when he was finally able to follow his love to the pits of Hades, as he had promised he would, he could tell him of his vision, how it shone and brightened the faces of all the freed men of the world; truly a deed to rival Prometheus. And then they could dine and feast together in the halls of Hades. So for that he would live, and work, and pray. So that one day, he too may die.

With that beacon of hope in his mind, he returned to the world he currently dwelled in and looked around him. As he passed, the servants looked at him with barely concealed curiosity, before averting their eyes when they caught his. They didn't know what to make of him, he knew, and he wondered what mayhem was being plotted by those above them, the other generals most of all. Were they already scheming to do away with him or would their love for Alexander last him beyond the king's funeral? Either way, he urgently needed to organise his plans and set in motion the chain of events that would lead to the salvation of Alexander's reign. And his bloodline.

It was for that reason that Hephaestion, with a bit of trepidation, now made his way into Roxane's chambers, who was to be the mother of Alexander's rightful heir.

**_TBC_**


	4. A Queen's Loyalties

Only when he entered did he remember that he hadn't knocked. Should he have? But Roxane had heard him already, for she was looking up.

'You!' she screeched when her eyes fell upon him. Her face darkened in anger as she got up to face him fully. 'Have you come here then to kill me?' she hissed at him, 'you, who my husband trusted above all others, and yet here you are already usurping his throne! Have you come to do away with your rival, my child, Alexander's son?' She was directly in his face now, eyes spewing hatred at him, but he took no step back nor averted his eyes. He just let her rage. 'Is this what your so-called love is worth?'

He waited patiently and when he was sure she was done calmly said her name, 'Roxane.' Her hatred only intensified as he used not her title but her name, but he knew he had to speak to her as one person to another, without titles to hinder their honesty. 'Roxane,' he again said soothingly, 'I haven't come here to harm you, or your child. He's Alexander's and therefore more precious to me than my own life.'

Her eyes narrowed, as she pondered the validity of his words, but he saw the hate in her eyes diminish slightly. 'How do I know you speak the truth?' she finally asked him suspiciously.

'Roxane,' he sighed, letting some of his own grief show, 'all I've ever wanted is to be near him. I don't want his crown.'

'And yet you have it,' she said suspiciously, testing him, daring him.

'And when your son is old enough, I swear, it will be his,' he said with every last shred of honesty in his body. This seemed to convince Roxane and she let her fury subside. Instead, she returned to her couch and when seated waved Hephaestion into a chair too.

'Why come to me with this?' she asked him.

Hephaestion took in a deep breath at her question, growing uncomfortable. He wasn't used to sharing his thoughts with anyone. Usually he observed, waiting until they were alone before baring his opinion to Alexander. But now, it was him in the spotlights; something else to get used to. He would have to though, and fast, or all his plans would be mere shadow. 'Because I need your support, as queen. It won't be long before the other generals question my authority; they know as well as I do that I was never meant to rule. You alone can now speak for Alexander. If we face them together, perhaps they will listen.'

'In life, you often spoke for him, yet in death, only I can?' she asked, slightly vicious, and he knew she held in her mind the memory of that day in India, when he'd refused her entrance to her own husband. He could feel her eyes upon him, watching closely for his reaction.

To avoid them, Hephaestion looked to the floor, knowing that his face clearly showed his hesitation. After a moment, all he said was, 'you are his wife,' and with his words, his eyes returned to hers, unable to hide any longer the pain he too had suffered because of the strange triangular relationship they had all shared. Faced with the evidence of his loss, which was so much more profound than her own, he could see how her resentment failed her.

'Very well,' she assented, 'I will help you keep the crown until my son can claim it.' He conveyed the gratitude he felt to her with his eyes, but she turned away from it. 'Now, please excuse me, I have just lost my husband, and I would like to grieve; alone.'

Hephaestion was more than happy to end this confrontation that was making neither of them at all comfortable, and quickly fled her rooms, going to the only room he could stand to be in now: Alexander's. Bagoas, he saw as he entered, had already finished, and had left Alexander, carefully bathed and clothed, on his bed, looking as serene as if he was merely sleeping. Dropping down in a chair and feeling the exhaustion his grief brought weigh down on him once more, Hephaestion simply curled up and gazed at his golden love until sleep claimed him.

**_TBC_**


	5. Olympias

It was dark when a small convoy stopped before the palace of Babylon. As guards and stable boys hurried towards it, a woman, shrouded in black clothing, jumped off an equally black horse. Her hair was liberally sprinkled with grey and deep lines were edged in her face, but her stance was tall and proud; regal in a way that made her arrival on horseback not plebeian but more royal than if she had arrived in the now-empty carriage that trailed at the end of the line.

The men tried to stop her, to tell her. Tell her that Alexander, that her son… She walked right through them, not wanting to hear the words they had to say for she already knew them. They had not the courage to stop her. Unerringly, even in this palace she'd never before seen, she found her way through the dark halls. Their emptiness vexed her and she silently cursed them, his faithful Companions indeed, the snakes! She had no wish to see any of them.

At last, she reached the door to her destination. Careful not to make a sound, she opened it, wondering whether the person she searched for would be awake or sleeping. Her eyes moved over the corpse on the bed, uncaring for what had once been the flesh of her son's body. It was to the man in the chair besides it that her attention went, and a tiny smile crossed her face at his unending loyalty, but it quickly disappeared.

She studied him for a moment, distinguishing between lines of age and lines of grief in his face. Then, strangely tenderly, she brushed a lock away from his face, waiting silently for him to wake. He stirred, struggling for a moment before opening his eyes. She could see that her son's name was on his lips and his soul died anew when it were her eyes, not Alexander's, that met his. They exchanged no words, only looks of deep grief, until the tight reigns she had held over her emotions since she'd heard of her son's death crumbled and broke, leaving her misery free to flood her senses. With a scream of sorrow, she fell to the floor at his feet and sobbed, feeling, after a moment, his arms tentatively come around her. Silently, he held her, at first closing his eyes against his own tears, until they no longer obeyed him and started treading down his face. Streaming, pouring, flooding him, until he too quivered and screamed. In the dead of night, on the floor of the king's bedroom, they howled out their grief together.

**_TBC_**


	6. Cassander

**Warning: some foul language in this one.**

Look at him, that unworthy sycophant, dressed in the finest Persian robes but looking like a quivering maiden with his eyes so reddened that even the lines of kohl can't disguise it. _Pathetic_! And this is who you left your empire to, this weak flatterer. Did he ever even disagree with you, Alexander? Opened his mouth to you for anything but flattery and sweet kisses? Was he so good, your pretty Athenian whore, that he deserved all the power you gave him? Chiliarch, brother-in-law, even successor! Even now, standing before your pyre, watching your face slowly being consumed by flames, he's already taking your place. Don't you see it? Standing between Roxane and Olympias as if _he_ were their husband and son, not you!

If only you'd named me your successor instead of him. I would have been legendary! Cassander, ruler of all the known world, greater even than Alexander himself. But no, instead you gave all your power to _him_, making it impossible for us to defy him, even after your death. Before long he'll be charming all of them, as he once managed to charm you. Already he has won over Ptolemy, and Pharnakos, even Crateros! That half-woman nobody, our _king_! Has he so enchanted you, Alexander, blinded you with your own lusts that you couldn't see how pathetically obsequious he is? How weak and soft, not even a true warrior? Has he, Alexander, bewitched you with his pretty eyes and face? Well not me! Never me! He might have won this battle, but the war is not over. One day, he'll slip, show his true, insignificant nature. And when he does, I'll be there, watching, waiting; ready to strike. And then I'll rule, as I should. And your dear _Hephaestion_ will no longer be able to stand in my way!

**_TBC_**


	7. Roxane

**A/N: Happy New Year everyone! The journey's almost over everyone, only one more chapter! Please review.**

Roxane, Queen of Babylon, watched as Hephaestion honoured the vow he had made her almost fourteen years ago, to give her son, as Alexander's rightful heir, the crown he had taken upon Alexander's death. She'd wanted it, then, been prepared to fight him if he failed to do as he'd promised, but now that he proved true to his word she could find no joy in it. Because it meant he was dying. And despite how much she'd hated him once, resented him for the place he'd held in her husband's life, the place that should have been hers; how _he_, not she, had had Alexander's trust, his confidences, and his love, despite all, she hated to see him die. Because his death was depriving her son of the only father he'd ever known, the father-figure he loved. And, she admitted to herself, a man she too had come to care for.

In the years that had passed since Alexander's death, Hephaestion had been her strongest supporter and ally, and she'd learned to trust in his honesty, his loyalty and his compassion. As time had gone by, she'd found it more and more difficult to hate him for having been loved by her husband, for she too loved him, in a way. And now, as she sat there and watched the tears cascade down her son's cheeks, as he sat on Hephaestion's deathbed like Hephaestion had on his father's, she felt a stab of love for him she had not felt before. He loved her son, loved Alexander's son, more than he ever could a son of his own. And he'd cared for him like no other, taught him, played with him, been by his side and on his side all his life; even Alexander himself could not have done more.

Tears slowly started to form in her eyes too, and she wished desperately that his time had not yet come. Her son still needed him, needed him to live. As much as she wanted her son to rule, she knew he, at thirteen, wasn't old enough to wear the crown, wasn't old enough to be king, but, most of all, he wasn't ready to loose Hephaestion. She saw it in the way he clung to his hand, almost ashen in colour now. And how he pleaded, in-between sobs, for Hephaestion to stay. And yet she could not deny him his departure, for even she saw how, on the brink of death, he looked more peaceful than he had in the last fourteen years of life. A tear rolled down her cheek as she realised her son would loose him, soon.

**_To Be Continued_**


	8. Hephaestion

**A/N: sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter up, a new, very exciting plotbunny found me and I've been so busy feeding and observing it and building the foundations for its new home that this last chapter slipped my mind a bit. A big hug to everyone who's reviewed so far, please keep it up!**

Slowly, he felt the tendrils of sleep releasing him back to the waking world. Like a shiver, the sensation returned to the rest of his body, working from his head slowly downwards until the chill he felt had spread to his entire body. His eyes were the only parts that were able to move and he slowly opened them, blinking lazily against the golden light that flooded them. After a few attempts, he was able to open them fully and he gradually became aware of the dark shape that emerged within the brightness. After a moment or two, the dark shape became more pronounced and he was able to discern young Alexander's features. He tried to smile at the boy, but all he had energy for was to close his eyes slightly while his lips curved up almost imperceptibly. It was all he could do about the tears he saw coursing down the boy's cheek.

His head fell to the side, giving him an unobstructed view of his own two sons, standing in the corner, looking lost and sad. Their mother wasn't there. He tried to spare them a smile too, but it came out even worse than the first one. He saw them hesitate, unsure whether to approach him, but in the end the safety of their corner won out and they just stared at him like scared little creatures. Pride coursed through him at the thought of what great companions they'd make for Alexander, just like their fathers the boys would be. He saw the scene play out before him, his sons growing into the most loyal of supporters for his own love's boy. The image filled his eyes with joy as he moved them back to young Alexander with difficulty. How like his father he looked! The blond hair, the expression in his dark eyes; wanting so badly to be loved. Hephaestion looked at him, looked at him until the young boy he saw before him changed into another. Until the face he saw before him was not of the son, but of the father. A face that looked at him lovingly, that will to live in his eyes, the one he'd always loved in Alexander; beckoning Hephaestion to come to him.

This time, he almost managed a full smile. And with his eyes on the one he loved, he passed gently from this world to the next.

**_Fine_**


End file.
